


Fire

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s04e01 Small Victories, Episode: s04e10 Beneath the Surface, Episode: s08e18 Threads, F/M, Five Times, Gateworld Ship Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 19:50:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20013859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: Five times Sam and Jack's relationship progressed by the fire.





	Fire

**_i._ **

Setting up camp for the first time as an SG team is, in no uncertain terms, a clusterfuck. It also, surprisingly, comes much later in their tenure than he anticipated. It costs an arm and leg—and probably a few extra body parts courtesy of the American taxpayer—to run the Stargate. So they’ve been given strict instructions by General Hammond to go off-world and _stay_ off-world until the mission is over (“ _Colonel, unless your team is under fire or bleeding out, I don’t want to see SG-1 until you’ve made a full assessment of this planet’s resources.”)_

But they had been pretty lucky in terms of accommodation for the first few months of their travels. Instead of sleeping on hard ground in military-issued tents, they’d found themselves escorted to inns and huts and, on a memorable occasion, a palace. 

Except P4X-792 is an apparent wasteland with no inns or warm hearths welcoming them. And so, for the first time in almost four months as a team, Jack watches the setting sun and turns to his team, adjusts his pack on his shoulder, and pulls the bugaboos from his face to let them dangle from his neck.

“Okay, campers,” he says with a grin, clapping and rubbing his hands together. “Let’s set up for the night.”

For the most part, he’s forgotten that half of his team is not military. Teal’c is one of the better soldiers that he’s ever had under his command and Daniel, for all of his quirks, had blended in and fallen into line when it mattered. He knew Carter was responsible for both Teal’c and Daniel becoming fluent in military protocol and, in Daniel’s case, basic hand-to-hand. 

Clearly, setting up camp hadn’t been part of Captain Carter’s Military 101 crash course. 

Teal’c didn’t seem to grasp the concept of unrolling and propping up the two tents rolled up and tied to Carter’s pack. “O’Neill, I do not require shelter. On Chulak, Jaffa are required to endure the elements as a test of our strength and faith.”

Daniel seemed to view the MREs and power bars as a personal affront on his palate, sifting through packets with disdain and muttering about military misuse of funds. “Sure, sure, spend a couple billion on more guns, but palatable shelf-stable nutrition? No, no, save that for another year.”

It was all grating on Jack’s nerves and he grit his teeth against the frustration and continued to establish the perimeter, dropping the SGC’s fancy heat and motion detectors into the ground and leaving his non-military team members behind him. 

On the final turn, just when he thought he couldn’t take Daniel’s grumblings and Teal’c’s careful, slow inspection of each tent component, Carter emerged from the edge of the wooded area with an armful of perfectly sorted and stacked branches and kindling. 

“Sir,” she greeted warmly. 

“Carter, I beg of you, get that fire going and put food in Daniel’s stomach now before I murder him and wrap him in the tent that Teal’c is taking his sweet time building.”

Her eyes widened at his gruff tone before readjusting her armful of firewood and nodded at him. “Yes, sir.”

Before he had time to tell her that he was joking, that it wasn’t an order, she was striding off to the center of camp. He dropped the last perimeter sensor and turned and watched as his second-in-command dropped the wood to the ground and turned to Daniel, voice sharp.

“Daniel, knock it off with the MREs. I’ll get the fire going and heat them up and we’ll even get some of the coffee going. Take it from me, hot MREs are exponentially better, okay?”

“But I’m _hungry_ , Sam. Jack made us hike for miles.”

“That’s Colonel O’Neill’s job. He’s supposed to push us to cover as much ground as possible to minimize how long we have to stay here.” She grabbed her pack and dug around before emerging with one of her spare, non-military issue bags of trail mix and a Snickers bar. She tossed both at him with an indulgent smile, biting back a laugh at the way Daniel ripped eagerly into the candy. 

“You’re a life saver, Sam.”

She waved him off. “When you’re _you_ again, please go over there and help Teal’c get the tents set up, okay? I want camp established by the time the Colonel gets back.”

Jack watched as Daniel mock-saluted and scurried off to join Teal’c, Snickers bar hanging from his mouth and spirits lifted.

He stepped into the center of camp and took his place beside Carter, kneeling down and wincing at the sharp crack of his knees. Silently, Jack and his second-in-command worked together to split the thicker pieces of wood and steadily build up the base of their fire. Jack pulled the flint and steel from one of the Velcro pockets on his pants while Sam used the tip of her knife to shred some the wood into thin, curling strips.

Carter placed the bed of wood strips in the center of their would-be fire and sat back on her heels, waiting for Jack. From there, it was time for his favorite part of camping: lighting the fire. 

He knelt forward and struck the flint and steel together, creating a shower of sparks that caught the shaved wood. Dropping the flint to the ground, he leaned forward, tilted his head, and blew oxygen and life into the spark, sending them into tiny, flickering flames that licked and then began to rapidly consume the branches it was built on. 

Jack sat back and smiled in satisfaction. This never failed to make him feel alive and connected to the nature around him. He looked over at Carter to congratulate her on rounding up their herd of cats—the rest of their team—when he caught sight of her staring into the flames, a mirrored look of satisfaction on her face.

The words caught in his throat as the full picture of his young second-in-command took frame in his mind: the look on her face, the smile curling at her lips, the gentle way the growing fire was lighting her face and highlighting the curve of her cheeks and the glint in her eye. 

Not for the first time, he was struck by how beautiful Samantha Carter was. He knew it was against regulations to do anything about the attraction, about the flirting and the banter, that was developing between them.

But the regulations couldn’t stop him from being thankful for her or for finding the way the firelight danced over her skin, for finding _her_ , mesmerizing.

**_ii._ **

Jack stretched out along the bank of the river that ran through P4X-234, a makeshift fishing pole in his hand and found himself longing for his olive green cap to pull down low over his eyes.

Beside him, Sam and Teal’c were working diligently on adding the last of their gathered firewood to the roaring fire. In the few days since their escape from Thor’s ship after fighting off the replicators, the three of them had made do with almost no supplies by finding shelter in a cave-like structure by the river and relying on some basic Survival 101 skills: get a fire going, boil the river water for drinking, and make use of your environment for everything else. 

While he and Teal’c had developed a taste for the lean, flaky fish that he managed to catch out of the river, Carter still scrunched her nose and ate it up in large bites that she barely chewed, intent on just getting the meal down. 

“I will gather more firewood to get us through the night, Major Carter,” Teal’c announced, rising from their kneeling position by the fire.

“Don’t go too far,” she warned, sending him off with a light touch on his forearm. Teal’c bowed his head in acknowledgment before heading for the nearby wooded area just to the south of their campsite. 

Carter joined him on the edge of the bank, picking up the second makeshift fishing pole with a sigh and a winkle of her nose that he found unbearably, well, _cute._

“Y’know, Carter, if I had known you didn’t like fish, I wouldn’t have invited you to go fishing,” he mentioned casually, adjusting his grip on his fishing pole. He hadn’t meant to invite her out to his cabin with him, not really. But in her lab, with her blue eyes on him and her hair ruffled and her smile filling him with warmth, he was suddenly seized with the fantasy of having her all to himself—having that smile, that warmth—with him for a week in the cabin, no SGC or military eyes upon them. 

The fantasy stole through him so quickly and it felt so _real_ that he felt the invitation pour out of him and suddenly she was looking at him like he was cheating, like he was breaking all the rules of their carefully unspoken attraction. 

“I like fish,” she protested, half-heartedly lifting and casting her line into the water. “I just don’t like this particular type of fish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

He huffed a laugh, shifting in the tall, soft grass of the bank. “Fair enough.”

They sat there in quiet companionship, letting the lull and splash of the river water and the cracking sound of the firewood fill the night. In some ways, his fantasy was being fulfilled now. Just him, Carter, and fishing away from the prying eyes of their superior officers. 

Jack worked hard to catch glimpses of her out of the corner of his eye. Her hair was curling gently behind her ears and had grown long enough to brush over her jaw. He itched to reach over and tuck the loose strands behind her ear and let his knuckles brush along the curve of her cheek to see if the fire had warmed her skin. 

“Out of curiosity,” Sam said, breaking the silence and shifting beside him, studiously looking ahead and avoiding his eyes. “Why did you invite me to go fishing?”

He flailed for a moment, not quite ready himself for the question. He was still coming to terms with the realization that his attraction to her was _more_ than an attraction; that there were _feelings_ rapidly taking root and growing between them and in his heart. 

“You need to get out of that mountain every once in a while, Carter. And, y’know, I figured—“

“It might as well be on vacation with you?”

He swallowed and shrugged. “Yeah, well, I was out of line. You were right to say no. I shouldn’t have put you in that position to—“

“I was going to say yes.”

She says it in a rush, like the words are strung together in one long exhale of air and she just needs to get it out. Like a confession. 

It stops his heart for a second before sending it a frenzy, hammering against the walls of his chest and ribs. He shouldn’t look over at her, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t….

He looks over her and sets his fishing pole to the side, shifting and turning his body towards her. She’s like a magnet and her words are pulling him in. He’s desperate to hear her give voice to the _thing_ between them, desperate to hear that he’s not alone in this.

“You were?”

She’s still looking out over the water and he silently begs her to face him. There must be a higher power listening because his prayers are answered and he watches with his heart in his throat as she places her fishing pole next to his and turns to face him.

“I was.”

Two words shouldn’t sound so loaded, but they hit him hard and he exhales harshly. Once again, the fantasy of the two of them fills his mind and he can see her perfectly stretched out on his dock or fiddling with his ancient coffee maker or bundling up beside him on the plush couch and plopping a bowl of steaming hot popcorn between them.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay? That I wanted to say yes?”

_Is this okay? Are we okay? Are these feelings okay?_

He hears everything she isn’t saying, everything she isn’t asking. The light from their fire is dying, dwindling without more wood to feed off. It casts them both in half-lit shadow and the cover of darkness makes him feel a little safer to have this conversation, a little surer of his actions.

“Yeah, Sam, it’s more than okay.”

She sucks in a sharp breath at his use of her given name and then, to his surprise, he feels her hand sliding over his, fingers interlocking with his own. Maybe she’s feeling the same as he does: a little safer, a little braver in the half-shadow of their small fire. 

Jack licks his lips and strokes his thumb along the center of her palm, feeling the calluses on her hands. She shivers a little at the touch, he can feel it, and it makes him smile softly. 

It’s such a small touch in the grand scheme of things. They haven’t said much—not really—and yet it feels as if they’ve laid themselves bare. He settles his thumb on the pulse point of her wrist and presses down on the thundering pulse beneath her skin. 

The orange glow of their fire—what little is left of it, anyway—casts Sam’s face in shadow and he can just make out the way her bottom lip is shiny, as if she’s licked it or sucked it between her teeth. It sends heat through him that has nothing to do with the fire at their backs and he fights the urge to push his luck, to pull her towards him by their joined hands until she’s pressed against him and he’s stripping her down in the tall grass with just the flickering flames to keep them company.

He disentangles their hands and reaches for her, thumb itching to swipe against her wet bottom lip. She sways forward towards him, eager for his touch and he _just_ manages to get his fingertips along the soft skin of her jaw when a twig cracking nearby makes them both jump.

Teal’c steps into the campsite with an armful of freshly gathered firewood, dropping the kindling and smaller branches into the fire, giving it life. 

Sam leaps up, using his shoulder as support, and he can hear how her voice is overly-bright, overly high-pitched.

“Teal’c! You’re back!”

“Indeed.”

Jack, for his part, finds himself torn between anger directed at himself for getting caught up in the moment and allowing Teal’c to get the drop on him and Sam and anger at Teal’c for interrupting what he was pretty sure may have been his and Sam’s first real kiss. 

Twisting from his seated position in the grass, though, Jack knows two things for sure: Sam still looks so damn beautiful in the firelight and that she was going to go _fishing_ with him.

Sweet.

**_iii._ **

When he thinks about the icy hellscape waiting for them beyond the dome and walls of the mines, the lethal cold and assured frosty death, Jonah thinks he can tolerate the furnaces that fill their work and living spaces. 

The work is hard and labor intensive and water is scarce. It makes him resent the heat licking at him from the fire and coals and crave just one good crack in the dome shield above them to let in one good rush of cooling, arctic wind. 

But there’s another heat—a pleasurable heat—that Jonah does love about this place. In the cover of darkness, Thera finds him. He doesn’t know how it started, doesn’t know when they drifted together and decided to pair up. 

They just _went together_ and that was that. No questions asked.

So, when Thera tucked herself against him in his bunk that first time and murmured sleepily into the soft skin of his neck as she huddled impossibly closer, her hands sliding beneath his orange quilted shirt and trailing her own particular blaze of heat across his skin, Jonah found a new appreciation for the fire and heat of the mines. 

Tonight, he rolls her beneath him on the rickety, creaking cot and kisses her deeply. She clings to him, parts her legs and wraps them around his waist so he can settle against her, hips pressing against hers and letting her feel how hard he is, how much he wants her. 

How he always wants her.

Her nails drag through his hair, scratch down his neck and tug at his shirt impatiently. He grins into the kiss, nips at her bottom lip, and teases, “Someone’s impatient.”

“Want you,” she gasps, pressing herself up against him. The phrase—half-gasp, half-confession—stirs an impossible memory to the surface of his mind: Thera in a sweet little tank top number, a wild look in her eyes, and pressing herself against him with an animal-like craze.

But before he can linger on the memory, he remembers he has the real thing—the real Thera—in his arms and she is impatiently thrusting her hips up against his and her hands are wandering beneath the waistband of his company-issued pants.

They haven’t gotten much further than this—heavy petting and a little dry humping, anything to get them both off. It’s getting harder and harder to remember why they can’t; why they _shouldn’t_. The same thing stopping them from crossing that line feels the same as that impossible memory, as all of his impossible memories.

He thrusts against her, encouraged by the way her hands grab handfuls of his ass and pull him against her. Thera’s gasp and whine of pleasure as his erection presses against her heat, hits her clit on the upstroke and keeps her on edge and desperate for more, spurs him on and he thrusts harder, faster. 

Thera leans up to bite down on his shoulder and then turns her head, licking at the column of his neck and holding him close. He shudders and shakes in her arms and tries so damn hard to hold back his own release until he feels her body go tense with pleasure, until he feels her tighten her legs around his waist and keen into his mouth. 

And when she does, she strokes his hair lazily, scrapes her nails through his hair and across his back and over his sides and up his abdomen, stroking through the coarse trail of hair over his stomach and down beneath his waistband. 

“That’s it,” she coos softly at him, pressing kisses to his chin, his jaw, his neck. He grips her hip to hold her steady, thrusts against her and ducks his head into the curve of her neck, teeth grazing the straining tendons and tongue licking up her salty sweat.

Then, then, then.

It’s a burst of pleasure and nothing but hot, rolling waves of heat and warmth. His come is hot and sticky and dripping in his pants; the space between her legs is like a furnace, damp and hot and welcoming. Things should cool off after they’ve both climaxed, but instead, a slow, curling warmth spreads through his chest and into his fingertips and toes as she presses soft, languid kisses to his mouth and sucks his tongue gently. 

It hits him like a roaring, out of control flame: he loves her. 

Jonah turns on his side and gathers Thera up in his arms, nuzzles his nose in the space behind her ear, and holds her close with his palm spread wide on her belly. They’ll slip out of the barracks in the early hours of the morning and clean up together, wiping away all evidence that they were ever anything more than coworkers and friends. 

For now, they revel and live in the heat of each other and the mines. 

**_iv._ **

Jack watches from his crushing position by the cabin fire as Sam bids a soft goodnight to Daniel and Teal’c who disappear down the long hallway towards the only guest bedrooms. He doesn’t blame them for the early turn-in. The rest of SG-1 had worked hard to keep Sam a perfect balanced of busy and relaxed at the cabin: fishing, hiking, stargazing, and grilling had rounded out their first two days together. 

He tosses another log onto the fire and stokes the flames, using the metal poker to move the logs around. Warmth and light flood the cabin’s living room and when he turns around to offer up a board game or a round of cards or _something_ to Carter, anything to keep her here with him, he finds her curled up on the edge of the couch, knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on her knees, and her eyes on him, dark and intense. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

He expects her to say her father, maybe even Pete or her broken engagement. There’s a slight possibility she’ll bring up their uncertain futures: Area 51, the SGC, Homeworld Security. 

Instead, she surprises him.

“P4X-234.”

_His hand in hers, her eyes on him, the promise that she_ wanted _to fish with him._

“Oh. That.”

She looks at him in a way that she hasn’t since they were Thera and Jonah, naked and open longing etched into every line of her face. It makes him feel hot all over and he wonders when she changed the rules on him and it became okay to _want_ again.

Carter unfurls herself from the couch and crosses the small distance between them to stand in front of him. Her hands brush over his abdomen, making him shudder and suck in a breath, before finally settling on his chest. 

“I told you I wanted to go fishing with you then. I don’t know how it took us this long to get here.”

He hears the frustration, the confusion, the _pain_ in her voice. But there’s something else there, something that had been missing in the last few years: determination.

Between the warmth of her palms seeping through the fabric of his shirt and the now-roaring fire filling the room, the temperature of the room feels unbearable and he’s reminded painfully of the way she once touched him just like this on a cot on an icy planet. 

He loops an arm around her waist and lifts his other hand up to her cheek, the back of his knuckles brushing over her cheek. Fascinated, he watches as her eyes flutter close and she leans into his touch with a sigh, lips parting.

“Sam,” he says softly, voice low and rumbling. “I’ve wanted to you here with me for a long time. But I don’t want you—us—to rush into anything here. Between Pete and your dad…”

When she opens her eyes, there’s a fire in them that makes him smile, makes him think of a young Captain striding into a briefing room and offering to arm wrestle him. 

“This isn’t about them,” she assures him, fingertips idly pressing and drumming against his chest. “This is about us waiting too long to get here. Unless,” she says, suddenly looking unsure and making a move to step out of the circle of his arm. “You feel differently now?”

Jack tightened his arm around her waist and pulls her back in against him, her body flush against his. 

“I love you as much now as I did then,” he says, eyes meeting hers and trying to convey the depth and breadth of emotion he feels for her, has always felt for her. He’s not a man to rely on words, finds _I love you_ to be overused phrase. But here, now, with this woman in his arms and the obstacles and barriers and miscommunications of their life behind him, it feels important that he say them.

It is the right thing to say, though, because Sam sags against him, winds her arms around his neck and presses herself against him.

“I love you, too,” she murmurs into the warm skin of his neck, lips brushing against him with each word. He tightens his hold on her and ducks his head into the curve of her shoulder and neck, entwining them together and swaying in front of the cabin’s fireplace. 

That fireplace in the coming years will see them again: soft kisses exchanged on stolen vacations, their naked bodies writhing together on a palette of blankets as they make love by the firelight, stroking the fur of the newest addition to their family as the dog warms herself by the hearth. 

But those moments are in the future—a future that is possible and theirs now, _finally_. For now, they hold each other, relearn the curves and contours and lines of their bodies, taste the warm, spicy taste of their mouths and all the ways they can make each other gasp and groan and shudder. 

Meanwhile, the fire crackles on merrily, giving the lovers light and warmth on their first night of forever.

**_v._ **

Sam grins, pleased with herself and her actions. The kitchen of their DC-based home is warm, filled with the scent of cinnamon and allspice and nutmeg as Christmas cookies crisp and bake in the oven. 

A haphazard, rather homely looking Charlie Brown-like tree, now adorns the corner of their living room. She’d run to the secondhand shop around the corner that morning to pick up the ugliest, most hideous ornaments she could find to decorate each of the sickly-looking branches. 

She’d been beamed to DC from across the galaxy just in time for a Christmas that she was certain she would miss and she had wasted no time in whipping their home into the holiday spirit. 

The clock chimed five o’clock and she bit her lip, grinning. He’d be home any minute now. She’d called his assistant—and she had never, ever let him live it down, the fact that he had an _assistant—_ and ensured that his evening schedule would be clear to allow him to come home on time.

Like clockwork, the front door opens and she hears the rattle of his keys in the dish and a pause before, “Sam?”

He comes around the corner and her heart stops in her chest for a moment. He’s dressed head-to-toe in his dress blues, medals shining and ribbons pinned proudly on his chest. 

It’s times like this that she’s struck by just how _handsome_ he is and how lucky she feels that he loves her, wants her. 

But before she can even get out a bright _hello_ , he crosses the distance between them and sweeps her into his arms, mouth eager and hot on her own. She hums into his mouth and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. For a moment, she revels in the feel of him and the perfect, expert way he kisses her: hard pressure of lips, soft strokes of his tongue, sharp nips against her bottom lip that are immediately soothed. 

He pulls away and leans his forehead against hers. “You told me you couldn’t make it this year,” he accuses, palms pressing into the small of her back and, because he can, leaning forward to kiss her once more.

“Surprise,” she offers softly, kissing the underside of his jaw and stepping out of the circle of his arms to show off their unique Christmas tree. He eyes the tree with a raised eyebrow in her direction, fingering the sad branches weighed down by hideous ornaments.

Jack turns back to her and finds her by their fireplace, holding up two stockings with a grin.

“Wanna help me put the finishing touches on this place?”

He laughs, can’t help it. This woman, this incredible, amazing, woman is here in their home with flour on her cheek and a glint in her eyes. And he knows, just _knows_ , this is going to be one of the best Christmases of his life, simply because she is there with him.

He takes the proffered stocking, doesn't even bother wondering where she found a stocking with a _J_ on it. It’s Carter, of course she found a way. 

Sam closes her eyes softly as he reaches forward to brush off the dusting of flour from her cheek, fingertips dancing over her skin and curving to cup her cheek in his palm. 

“Merry Christmas, Sam,” he murmurs before leaning forward to brush his lips over hers. 

Later, they will watch Die Hard ( _“It’s a Christmas movie, Jack! It takes place at Christmas.” “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”_ ) and eat overly-iced Christmas cookies and let the fireplace fill their home with warmth and light, silhouetting their stockings where they hang together from the mantle place. 

After everything, he thinks, they deserve this. 

They deserve happiness.


End file.
